


'Neath The Starry Sky We Lie

by Anastasia3000



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anastasia3000/pseuds/Anastasia3000
Summary: A retrospective look on an unconventional love.





	1. Happy New Year

> There are all kind of loves in the world, but never the same love twice.
> 
> \- F. S. Fitzgerald, _'The Sensible Thing'_

There in her house, on New Year’s Eve, she has gathered all the people she loves and cares for – some of her old school friends, the people she had met during her trips around the country, and those she met when they still had their shop. In the sweet haze induced by a few drinks too much, a cigarette, and the jolly mood all around, every jewel glistens more vividly, the clinking of glasses is brighter and every laugh more heartfelt, every smile is more sincere. The only smile Abby still hasn’t seen the whole evening is Carol’s. With the New Year merely an hour away, she hasn’t showed up yet, nor has Therese. But as if plucked out of her own train of thoughts, the two women make their way into the hallway.

“Girls! You made it!” Abby navigates the crowded living room to greet the newly-arrived guests.

“Hey there! With all the snow falling tonight, we got stuck into traffic! We really wish we could have made it earlier.” And just with that they drift apart, caught in the orbit of other conversations.

_Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong._

Abby spots Carol and Therese again, under a sprig of mistletoe, looking at it and giggling. With satisfied resignation, Carol cups Therese’s cheek with one hand and tenderly kisses her lover’s lips. That abandonment of bodies into one another, Abby never had it, but it is the look of pure love and blissful delight on Carol’s face when they part that she had always wanted for herself. That look isn’t new to her – Margot has always looked at her with the same adoring eyes since they had met at the steakhouse.

“Oh, Abby, sweetheart! Happy New Year!” Margot sings approaching her. Abby stares at her and a smile slowly appears on her lips. She loves Margot dearly, Abby knows it, and it is a different kind of love from the love she feels for Carol, she now realises. She can see herself old and grey with Margot by her side; for all their years to come, a warm joy radiates through her. Abby kisses Margot with new-found passion, vowing in her heart to never take her for granted.

“Happy New Year, Margot darling, Happy New Year.”


	2. Sleepy Head

> Go to sleep, my love. Go to sleep, hold me. It’s just a fearful dream.
> 
> \- Dacia Maraini, _Dreams of Clytemnestra_

The white dawning light cuts open the cold mist lingering in the air, and it seeps through the slightly open curtains. Heavy blankets are draped over Carol and Therese’s bodies. Silence fills the bedroom, punctuated only by Therese’s regular deep breaths and Carol’s lighter ones; a window separates the two women from the outside noises of New York waking up on a Sunday morning.

Therese stirs under the blankets; half-asleep and dazed she draws Carol closer. It is comforting to feel Carol’s soft pyjamas against her bare arm, and Carol’s frame pressed against her own. After all, night hadn’t divided them – dreams of Carol leaving her would sometimes plague Therese’s nights, but gently nuzzling against her lover’s neck would always give her a renewed sense of peace.

The light motions wake Carol up – she is not to get up yet, not this morning. She holds Therese tight, and adjusts the rhythm of her breathing to match Therese’s. They lay there, and the morning light stretches ever so slightly into the bedroom – to pepper Therese’s face with kisses, Carol decides, when the beam of light will reach across the bed, and then kiss her until the sun goes down.


	3. Your Heart Fits Me Like A Glove

> Each has its past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by his heart,  
and his friends can only read the title.
> 
> \- Virginia Woolf

Therese is surprised to see how the thin paper foil has well preserved them for so long, too long perhaps. From the years spent in the darkest corner of her locker at The Home to the bottom of a box thrown around during each one of her countless moves, they are still in perfect shape, exactly as she remembered them.

The mittens Sister Alicia had knitted for her are a bittersweet reminder of her past – an abandoned child who struggled to reciprocate genuine care and affection. She has no use in those gloves now, except for dwelling in the memory of one of those rare people who had taken a real interest in her during her childhood years, and that she had silently loved. A pang of melancholy stings Therese in the chest and it bubbles up in her throat, fogging her eyes. She carefully takes the mittens out of the paper wrap and seizes them – they’re so small they fit in the palm of her hands. There had been a time in which her hands would fit into those tiny gloves, but that always preferred to sit into Sister Alicia’s hands every Sunday morning on the way to church. Her hands now have grown to be the same size of Sister Alicia’s, or so Therese thinks. She also thinks that she has outgrown those mittens many years ago.

**;**

The gloves fit Rindy’s baby hands perfectly. From a distance, Therese watches Carol play in the snow with her daughter, their cheeks flushed by the physical activity and the cold air. Carol turns around and flashes her such a sweet smile, it could easily melt her hardest frowns – yet again Therese catches herself thinking of how a woman as overwhelmingly beautiful as Carol could fall in love with a plain girl like her. But the shame of having such a ridiculous thought, to doubt Carol’s feelings, immediately scathes Therese just below the surface of her skin, to soon swirl in the air and dissolve among clouds of chimneys’ smoke.

Rindy bolts from across the snowy field and throws herself into Therese’s arms, almost knocking her over. Therese showers the little girl with kisses that cause Rindy to laugh uncontrollably; then, in a whim, the little girl turns all serious and puts her gloved hands on Therese’s cheeks.

“I really like the mittens, aunt Therese. I love you.” She kisses Therese on the tip of her nose, detangles herself from the hug and, dragging Therese along with her, she runs back to play in the snow with her mother.


	4. Chocolate

> The meadows and far-sheeted streams  
Lie still without a sound;  
Like some soft minister of dreams  
The snow-fall hoods me round;  
In wood and water, earth and air,  
A silence everywhere.
> 
> \- Archibald Lampman, _Snow_

Dark chocolate and cinnamon, milk chocolate and whipped cream. The large cups sit on the pinewood table of the coffee shop, and the steam rising briefly clouds the vision of the two women sitting together. Oblivious of the background soft blues playing, Carol and Therese drown out the chatter of the other patrons too.

Carol stirs the hot chocolate in her cup, the spicy smell of cinnamon wafting with the steam. “Days with Rindy are always too short.” The tea spoon clinks against the saucer, and Carol looks outside the window. “She liked apple pie, I don’t think Florence bakes it for her anymore. Or that she still bakes it at all for that matter. I wonder if Rindy would have taken apple pie if she were with us now. There’s so much I don’t know about her.”

Therese gently takes Carol’s hand in hers and squeezes it without saying a word. Carol sighs and turns around with a hint of a smile on her lips, but it doesn’t completely reach her eyes. “Let’s finish our chocolate and go home, shall we?”

It is snowing again by the time Carol and Therese leave the coffee shop, the snowflakes slowly waltz in the air before touching the ground. Families with toddlers stroll around the park, and Therese wonders what she and Carol would look like with Rindy with them as they walk in silence to their apartment.


	5. Home, Where My Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An admittedly tiny update, hope you'll enjoy it nontheless:)

> Her eyes are pure stars, and her fingers,  
If they touch you, freeze you to the bone.
> 
> \- Virginia Woolf, _Orlando_

The fire crackles loudly in the pit when Oliver meows and jumps on Carol’s lap, to then curl next to Therese on the couch. The kitten stretches his hind legs and the whiskers tremble with each purr. The two women had chosen the black kitten one Sunday afternoon with Rindy – a little tiny ball of black fur with a smear of white on his left eyes that charmed the three of them. As if to mimic Oliver, Carol stretches her legs on the loveseat to read the novel more comfortably. Therese – eyes closed and wrapped in a plaid blanket – lays on the couch, resting her head on Carol’s legs. In between the turning of pages, Carol slowly threads her fingers in Therese’s hair. A drizzle starts falling and Therese’s breathing slows down and deepens, signalling to Carol that she has fallen into a restful slumber – Carol shifts her attention from the book in her hand to Therese’s peaceful expression, and she smiles down lovingly, caressing Therese’s rosy cheek.


	6. Impression: Family Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy International Women's Day!

> I'm going where the sun keeps shining  
Through the pouring rain,  
Going where the weather suits my clothes...
> 
> \- Harry Nilsson, _Everybody's talking_

The shards of glass of the wind chime refract the sunlight entering from the open window, casting specks of coloured light all over the kitchen furniture. Carol is getting ahead preparing lunch – the shallot browns in a pan with a few tablespoons of olive oil, and then she adds the freshly diced tomatoes. She measures the pasta as she waits for the salted water to boil, whereas Therese sets the table in the living room. While walking back to the kitchen to get a few beverages, the young woman almost trips on Oliver chasing a ball of yarn. Rindy sits at the table, absorbed in her colouring book, and the soft sound of pencils on paper mingles with the kitchen sounds; once in a while, Carol casts a look over her shoulder to see what her little girl is doing.

“Aunt Therese?” Rindy doesn’t tear her eyes away from the monarch butterfly she is colouring.

Therese stops on the threshold, a bottle of wine and a bottle of water in her hands, and looks at the girl. “Yes, Rindy?” She is always a little surprised by the ease with which the little girl has accepted her presence by her mother's side.

“When will Aunt Abby and Margot arrive?”

“In a short while, Rindy dear...” Rindy tilts her head closer to the drawing, and that prompts Therese to bring the bottles to the table; the butterfly has again taken Rindy’s full attention over Abby and Margot.

“Aunt Therese?” Rindy shouts shortly after. She is looking at Therese with her big blue eyes, Carol’s eyes, and the pencil in her mouth. “Colour with me?”


	7. The Quality of Those Days Varied

> “A kiss, when all is told, what is it?  
An oath taken a little closer, a promise more exact.  
A wish that longs to be confirmed,  
a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love'.  
A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear,  
a moment of infinity humming like a bee,  
a communion tasting of flowers,  
a way of breathing in a little of the heart  
and tasting a little of the soul with the edge of the lips!”
> 
> \- Edmond Rostand, _Cyrano de Bergerac_

“Therese, it’s three in the morning, why are you sitting here all alone?” The suffused milky glow of the fluorescent light above the sink barely reaches Therese sniffling at the kitchen table.

“Did I wake you up?” Therese’s voice is low and hoarse as she wipes away a few stray tears from her cheeks.

“Yes, because I turned around in bed and I didn’t find you next to me. And your side was cold.” Carol sits down next to Therese and gently wraps an arm around her shoulders, while with the other hand she caresses Therese’s hair. “Is that a picture of me on my wedding day?” The hue of an amused and tender smile creases Carol’s lips.

Therese just nods once and cradles against Carol’s body, crying hard again.

“Why are you crying?”

A sob shakes Therese’s shoulders and Carol draws her even closer to her body. “Because I can’t marry you like that...” The words come out slightly muffled, but they sting Carol’s heart with full force.

“Oh, darling...” Tears brim from Carol’s eyes, yet she manages not to let them fall. “Come back to bed now, we’ll talk about it tomorrow, would you?”

Therese nods and slowly gets up. She takes Carol by the hand and drags her back to the bedroom.

“But would you marry me, if we were given the chance?” A last question on the verge of sleep.

Carol kisses Therese on the corner of her mouth. “Yes, my dove. A thousand times yes.”


	8. Summer's Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May this short scene have captured the atmosphere of this piece:
> 
> Vincent D'Indy - "Halte, au Soir"  
https://youtu.be/pL0ETlQarjc

> “...the throat  
becomes thirsty,  
the teeth,  
the lips, the tongue:  
we want to drink  
waterfalls,  
the dark blue night,  
the South Pole,  
and then  
the coolest of all  
the planets crosses  
the sky,  
the round, magnificent,  
star-filled watermelon.  
It’s a fruit from the thirst-tree.  
It’s the green whale of the summer.”
> 
> \- Pablo Neruda, _Ode to the Watermelon_

“Mom! Mom!” Rindy reaches the house running in wide strides. A pink glow shades her cheeks, and her breathing comes in swift huffs. “Look! Poppies!” Red flowers cascade on Carol’s lap, petals gliding on the porch’s wooden floor.

“How lovely!” Carol opens in a bright smile, her eyes twinkling. “Where did you pick them?”

“Out, in the field...” The little girl latches her arms around her mother’s neck, and Carol places her watermelon slice on the dish on the table. “I’ll make crowns for you, me, and Therese...”

Therese smiles from her spot on the wicker chair. “How did you know I’d love a poppy crown?”

Rindy gives Therese her toothy grin, “Because you’re a fairy, like mom!” She then picks the poppies from her mother’s lap, plunges on to the floor and starts loosely braiding the flowers together to the best of her ability. The setting sun has tinged the sky of orange and pink by the time the crowns are ready to be worn, and little Rindy places them on their heads. She then lounges for Carol’s watermelon – she bites into the red pulp and rosy water trickles down her chin. Carol lets out an airy laugh, as clear and bubbly as the stream flowing behind their house, as warm as the blazing colours of the grapefruit sky.

_You are poppies with the winds above them._


	9. Growing Older

> Nachts aus meinem schlafenden Mund  
Fliegt ein Goldvogel zu dir,  
Hell ist seine Stimme, sein Flügel bunt,  
Der singt dir das Lied voll der Liebe,  
Der singt dir das Lied von mir.
> 
> (Every night from my sleeping mouth  
Flies to you a golden little bird,  
Light is its voice, its wing colourful,  
It sings to you a song full of love,  
It sings my song to you.)
> 
> – Hermann Hesse, _Liebeslied_

“Carol, let her breathe...” Therese holds Carol by the arm on top of the stairs.

Carol knits her eyebrows. “But she might need this as well...” Therese rolls her eyes and lets her go, and Carol tiptoes down the corridor. In front of Rindy’s bedroom Carol has a moment of hesitation, but then knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Therese hears Rindy shout.

“Does this scarf fit into your luggage?” Carol sits on Rindy’s bed, and shows her daughter a woollen burgundy scarf. Therese joins them shortly after and stands by Rindy’s desk.

Rindy pinches the bridge of her nose slowly exhales. “Mom.” She turns and looks directly at Carol. “It’s the third scarf you’re giving me... I’m going to college, not to war...” Therese smirks at Carol, raising an eyebrow.

Carol clears her throat and puts the scarf on the bed. “I know... it’s that...” A sound of tires on the gravel driveway. “This must be your father...” Carol gets up and starts heading downstairs. “Your jacket is hanging by the door...” The sound of Carol’s heals disappears down the stairs, and soon after the front door opens.

Rindy clasps her suitcase and looks at the scarf still on the bed. “What should I do with it now?” She asks, looking at Therese.

“Just wear it... One scarf more will do no harm. Let’s go downstairs now.”

**;**

“Sunshine!” Harge beams at the sight of her daughter. “Let me take your luggage to the car.” He kisses Carol goodbye, and bids his farewell to Therese with a nod.

“Come here, mom. One last hug before I leave.”

Carol holds her tight. “Promise you’ll call regularly.”

“Promise. I love you, mom.” She then takes Therese in her arms, and squeezes her. “I love you, Therese.”


	10. Easy Living

> Living for you is easy living  
It’s easy to live when you’re in love  
And I’m so in love  
There is nothing in life but you
> 
> – Billie Holiday, _Easy Living_

December 1968. Large snowflakes lazily float in the New York’s frosty air, dusting pavements and shimmering under the many Christmas lights. The sparkle of a pair of dainty golden hoops in a window shop catches Therese’s eye – they would surely meet Carol’s taste. The door chimes open _...living for you... is easy living..._ and a customer walks out _...it’s easy to live when you’re in love..._

Therese’s eyes flutter. “Billie...” She breathes out as the door closes.

17 years had passed. If she knew then what she knows now, she’d never believe it. She could have never believed she would fall in love with a woman.

Carol.

Carol – the beginning of her unravelling, and the meeting end of her breaking out of her shell.

..._I never regret the years that I’m giving... _

_...they’re easy to give when you’re in love..._

Therese enters the shop and purchases the earrings – they sit on the carmine velveteen cushion inside a tiny black box, and a cream silky ribbon seals the package.

An early Christmas gift. Paired with a kiss to seal their love.


	11. Starry Eyes

> Nel passato le persone che ami non muoiono.
> 
> (In the past, the people you love don't die.)
> 
> \- Erri De Luca, _Non ora, non qui_

> ...è la tua sorte la sorte dei fiori...
> 
> (...it is your fate the fate of flowers...)
> 
> \- Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj, _Nel Bosco_

The tartan blanket feels rough under Therese’s fingertips as she wraps it tighter around her shoulders – the night hair is chilly, but the starry sky is worth spending some time sitting on the porch. Nerinda sits contently beside her. They remain quiet for a while, the only audible noises outside being a dog barking in the distance, the breeze in the leaves and the soft buzzing sound of a radio broadcast coming from the kitchen.

“Do you ever miss mom during nights like this?”

“During nights like this I miss your mother more than any other day,” – Therese’s lower lip quivers lightly – “Do you remember when the three of us–you were still a little girl–would lie on the grass and look at the stars, trying to spot constellations up in the summer sky?”

“I do,” – there’s fondness and a smile in Rindy’s voice – “Oh, the Ursa Major! Mom could only spot that one...”

Therese smiles at the thought – Carol had never managed to see the patterns in which stars had been arranged centuries before by the human eye of sailors and astronomers.

“I never asked you how long you have been together.”

“54 years.”

Rindy sighs. The quiet of the night comfortably settles between them again and stays a while longer.

“When do you miss your mother the most, Rindy dear?”

“Every time I come back here. I had you two taking care of me, and you were always so happy together that I wanted to live here forever and never go away,” – Rindy squeezes Therese’s hand – “Look, a shooting star! Let’s make a wish.”

_I wish Carol were here to look at the stars with us, to be young together one more time and see the night sky through her eyes – twinkling lights embroidering the darkness._

“I don’t want to lose you too, Therese.”

“You’ll never lose me, dear, as you’ll never lose your mother.”


End file.
